


The Rungs of A Ladder

by hannibalmontanabal



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Hannibal - Freeform, M/M, hanniboo and Teddy Grahams, ladder scene smut, will plus hannibal 5ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 21:11:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannibalmontanabal/pseuds/hannibalmontanabal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An anonymous individual requested the ladder scene, this time with 85% more literary porn</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rungs of A Ladder

“I still have the coppery smell of blood on my hands.” Will says, anxiously pacing the floor of Hannibal’s elegant office. The psychiatrist licks his lips, and thinks, ‘ _oh Will.’_ The moment Will entered his office, Hannibal could smell the blood, too. And since then Hannibal’s senses have been alive with want. ”I can’t remember seeing the crime scene before I saw myself killing her.” 

It’s as good as dirty talk.

 

“Those memories sank out of sight, yet you’re aware of their absence.” Hannibal says, his eyes watching the younger with hungry curiosity. Will bites his lip thoughtfully, and Hannibal imagines with pleasure what it would like to be the reason Will bites his lip.

Then he imagines ripping into Will’s flesh himself, all teeth and jaws, The proverbial bad wolf, devouring sweet Will. 

My what big teeth you have.

It is a challenge to focus on simply listening to Will speak. To remain professional when the doctor knows how easy it would be to take Will. Take him mercilessly on his desk and swallow the boy’s screams.

“There’s a grandiosity to the violence that I imagined that feels more real than what I know to be true.” Will says, breaking Hannibal’s train of thought. 

“What do you know to be true?” Hannibal presses, leaning back on his desk.

“I know I didn’t kill her.” Says Will, though his voice falters ever so slightly. “I.. I couldn’t have. But I remember.. cutting into her. I remember watching her die.” And it is no small amount of self control on Hannibal’s part not to tear Will’s clothes off of him then and there. William, despite all of his awkwardness and innocence, is practically seducing Hannibal. Such a tease. 

“You must overcome the delusions that are disguising your reality.” Hannibal says, partially to himself, though Will would never know. His erection is straining against the fine fabric of his pants already.

Will hesitates, doesn’t respond but simply leans against the ladder. Hannibal salivates at the raw potential and wonders if he can seize the opportunity presented before him. The doctor is the very picture of patience and self control, but today it is wearing thin.

“What kind of savage delusions does this killer have?” Hannibal inquires, again he’s speaking more of and to himself that to Will.

“It wasn’t savage. It was lonely.” Will says, voice breaking with feeling. “Desperate. Sad. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and I looked right through me. Past me. As if I was just a stranger.” The way that Will is trembling with his sweet and utter empathy urges Hannibal to test the waters.

Hannibal uncrosses his arms and approaches Will, all but circling him like a shark, saying, “We have to honestly confront your limitations with what you do.” Will leans further into the ladder, arching his back and exposing his neck. Palms open, inviting. Submitting. Will sighs and Hannibal can smell coffee and lust mingling off his breath like the first day of spring. Warm, delicate. Such is Will. “How it affects you.”

“If by limitations you mean the difference between sanity and insanity, I don’t accept that.” Will says. Hannibal does so adore Will’s rebelliousness. He could imagine himself marinating such a beautiful mind, eating it with a side of white wine. But that would ruin the fun. That would be greedy. Will’s company is indulgent enough, and Hannibal intends to engorge himself on all that is beautiful Will. But not in such a way that would take Will from the world. 

“What do you accept?” Hannibal challenges, and he knows by the expression on Will’s face that Will has seen what Hannibal wants. Can feel the hunger radiating off of him.

Surprisingly, it is Will who closes the space between them and kisses first. It’s gentle and soft, but it’s enough to break down the flimsy wall of self control that Hannibal has been maintaining. Before Will can even cry out in surprise, Hannibal has Will’s legs wrapped around his torso and the younger man’s hands pinned against the uppermost rungs of the ladder. Hannibal knows just the right amount of pressure required to cut off the circulation in Will’s wrists, knows that Will’s arms are going numb. He kisses Will violently, conveying all the wanting and needing he’s been repressing with the gnashing of teeth and staggering of breath. Hannibal’s growls express as much as he could put into words as he pulls Will’s pants down without so much as loosening the man’s belt. They slide off easily enough.

It’s uncharacteristically sloppy, he knows, for a man so meticulous. He is the embodiment of hedonistic and deadly sin. Wrathful and lustful and gluttonous. 

Will is hanging on to the higher rungs of the ladder for dear life, knuckles white and palms slick with sweat. Still he holds on to the bar. Panting desperately as Hannibal pounds into him, pressing him into the ladder. Every other breath is a broken syllable. Only occasionally do Will’s tortured sobs form recognizable words, and the doctor smiles darkly as he thinks.  _William, are you speaking in tongues, then?_ And yes, Will is so lost in the moment that he is praying incoherently to Hannibal. Offering himself up as sacrament. Hannibal wonders, looking down into Will’s lost and sweat-drenched face, if Will had been needing this just as badly as he. If throughout the duration of their previous conversation, perhaps Will had been longing for Hannibal to conquer him. Devour him. 

And devour him Hannibal does, lapping up the sweat the trickles down Will’s throat before taking a bite of the tender flesh there. Not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough that Will digs his nails into Hannibal’s back. And the doctor’s teeth graze their way down to William’s collarbone, dragging roughly on the bone there as Hannibal comes with a hiss. Will is whimpering manically, the only words he is capable of uttering are a slurred string of “please” and “christ” and “more”. 

Coming down from the high of orgasm, Hannibal bites hard on Will’s lower lip, and licking the blood away. This is all it requires. Just like that, Will unravels before his eyes. Comes untouched, cerulean eyes rolling upwards, face contorting beautifully. A true work of art.

——

Will’s hair is matted and sticky with sweat as he pulls his pants back on, finally detaching himself from the ladder. His back will be bruised from being shoved so roughly into the unforgiving bars. His lip swollen and his collarbone and throat will bear bright purple teeth marks for a little less than a week. 

The way he staggers dazedly around the room, it’s obvious that his balance is slightly off and his vision bleary, even with his glasses on. 

He’s silent, drinking in everything around him. 

Hannibal fastens his gold cuff links, pushing the hair from his eyes. He tells Will that he will recommend him a neurologist to affirm whether Will’s problem is psychological or physiological. He can tell that Will’s barely listening, the boy’s own heart still pounding in his ears is probably the only thing that’s currently audible. 

Hannibal already knows Will’s condition is encephalitis. He can smell it, even now. But Will doesn’t need to know, for if it surfaced that Will’s problems were physiological, it would make Hannibal’s position as Will’s psychiatrist obsolete. 

And Hannibal is not even through the first course of the delicacy that is Will’s beautiful mind. 

**Author's Note:**

> Critiques, comments, and prompts always welcome.


End file.
